More Than a Skeleton

by Paul L Maier

  “Made in heaven! Oh, I forgot to tell you, Jon: the Holy Father sends you his warmest personal greetings, but with a very modest request . . .”

  “Which is?”

  “To quote directly, ‘Please solve this puzzle for Christendom as well as you did the last one.’”

  “Oh, fine!” Jon commented wryly. “I was afraid he’d ask something really difficult! But do give him my very best in return.”

  “That I will, Jon. See you soon!”

  Jon and Shannon again found elements of déjà vu on the drive northward, although this time the weather was even more delightful than on their previous trip.

  “I’m sure Joshua arranged that,” Shannon commented happily. Jon flashed a wan smile to Sullivan in the backseat, but said nothing. Why resume The Argument on such a lovely day? For his part, Kevin, a ruddy-faced, dark-haired, Irish-American who could have led the band in a Saint Patrick’s Day parade, returned the smile and also said nothing.

  Their conversation quickly focused on Benedict XVI. “What a man, the present pontiff!” Jon enthused. “He’s the best since John XXIII, of blessed memory. Benedict is one pope who knows how to guide the church through some difficult narrows—like those awful clergy pedophilia scandals. The American Catholic bishops did well in setting up a zero tolerance policy for abusive priests, Kevin—and was that long overdue!”

  “It was long overdue,” Kevin concurred.

  “But what about the bishops themselves, the ones who shifted known child abusers from parish to parish and then refused to resign? Thank God for Benedict XVI! Did that man ever roll bishops’ heads in the process of cleaning up the church!”

  “I think the final count was twenty-eight bishops, nine archbishops, and five cardinals. I think you have to go back to Gregory VII in the 1070s to beat those stats,” Sullivan agreed.

  “Still, I don’t think Catholicism’s completely out of the woods yet, much as I wish it were.”

  “Not by a long shot, chum!” Sullivan agreed. “There’s still our acute priest shortage . . . a delightful group called the ‘Lavender Mafia’ are partially responsible. I just cringe at the number of seminaries dominated by homosexual faculty and students. That’s a huge turnoff for any straights wanting to study for the priesthood.” Jon always admired how deadly honest Kevin was. Never in their student days together did he tell even a white lie. When they double-dated at Harvard, Jon would occasionally try to impress his date with a slight shading of the truth, but Kevin? Never. After one such evening, Jon turned to him and said, “Kev, I really think you are the only person since Jesus who has never sinned.” Kevin had laughed and said, “That’s right, Jon, and I’ll pray hard for your scurvy soul!” As their conversation drifted on to other murky scandals, Kevin looked anxiously at Shannon. “Thank goodness she’s asleep,” he said, “I wouldn’t want her to hear any of this dialogue.”

  “Oh, she’s a big girl and could handle it,” Jon assured him. “But enough of this cursing the darkness, Kev. Who’s going to light the candle?”

  “It could well be Benedict XVI. This is confidential, Jon, but the Holy Father will have much more to say on these problems in an encyclical he’s preparing.”

  “He will . . . he is?” Jon’s eyes brightened. He thought for a moment and asked, “Kevin, will you have any influence on the formulation of that encyclical?”

  “Perhaps a little. Others in the Curia will have more, I’m sure.” “Hmmm . . . well, this is out of line, of course, but . . . couldn’t you and the Vatican please consider reopening the question of clerical celibacy . . . on the possibility of a married clergy? Sure, celibacy is a great option for those, like yourself, who have the gift. But what about a wonderful Catholic kid, with the light of heaven in his eyes, who swears to celibacy on his way to the priesthood. But at prep school or seminary, the hormones really start flowing. Then he’s at a crossroads about what to do, and neither option seems right.”

  “Yes, I know the arguments, Jon. And I wonder if I, myself, really have the gift of celibacy, as you assume. I’d call it more the sacrifice of celibacy.”

  “I knew you were a hetero back in Harvard days, Kev: we always tried to date the same beautiful girls from Radcliffe!”

  Kevin laughed, then turned serious. “I’ll do what I can, Jon. I . . . really mean it.”

  “I’ll make a prediction: by A.D. 2030, there will be general priestly marriage in Catholicism.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Sullivan.

  “Why not?”

  “I hope it’s more like 2020!”

  Jon laughed and then switched the conversation to Joshua Ben-Yosef, giving Kevin a full debriefing. The eyewitness flavor of Jon and Shannon’s experiences impressed Kevin far more than the many web communications, and he fired salvo after salvo of questions. Time and again, comments like “incredible,” “beyond belief,” “boggles the mind” erupted from the backseat.

  Sullivan finally summed it all up. “Jon,” he said in low, deliberate tones, “if we really have to take Joshua’s claims seriously, then all of Christendom is faced with a problem far more excruciating than anything we discussed earlier.”

  “Well put, Kevin. And true.”

  “Okay, fellas,” said a sleepy voice. “Are we there yet?”

  “Funny you should ask, Shannon,” said Jon. “Yes, in fact, we are.”

  THIRTEEN

  Amid mounting traffic, they drove up the switchbacks on the Mount of the Beatitudes and reached the parking area at the summit. Aluminum grandstands now crowned the crest of the hill to augment the natural theater, adding another two or three thousand seats. There were more poles with loudspeakers and floodlights, a more impressive stage area, and two newly planted groves of Mediterranean pines lining the edges of what seemed to be a permanent outdoor theater. An array of television cameras on tripods lined the upper perimeter, all connected to vans ready to beam their signals to a receiver/transmitter tower temporarily erected at the summit of the mount, as well as to an array of satellite dishes scattered across the crest of the hill.

  “I wonder what’s going on here,” Jon remarked to Shannon and Kevin. “Is this going to be Ben-Yosef’s regular venue? His outdoor temple? An Israeli version of Oberammergau . . . or maybe Branson, Missouri?”

  “Quiet, skeptic!” said Shannon. “I asked an usher, and he said this is going to be the Galilee Theater for musical and cultural events.”

  “Oh.”

  They arrived early enough to get middle seating in the alfresco theater. Kevin stared at the stage through binoculars, waiting for the luminous personality who was challenging and changing the religious world to appear.

  At all of Joshua’s recent public appearances, the themes of his presentations were announced in advance. Today it was to be “Parables.” At exactly 3:00 P.M., a trumpet flourish silenced the crowd for the English program.

  “Look to the left, Kevin,” said Jon, pointing. “Here come Joshua’s twelve associates.” He still refused to call them disciples.

  While they seated themselves in a row, the dominating figure of Shimon walked to center stage to welcome the crowd.

  “That’s the Peter figure,” Jon advised Kevin, in what became a running commentary.

  “May El-Shaddai, the Mighty God, extend His blessings to all of you!” Shimon announced in a commanding bass voice. “Whatever your backgrounds, whatever your beliefs, you are all welcome to hear the Master. Many of you know who the Master truly is. Some of you do not. All we ask is that you listen carefully to his words, and only then draw your conclusions. May the Spirit of God attend your hearing, as well as your response. And now, by divine grace, it is our humble yet blessed privilege to introduce that person who, by his words and deeds, stands closest to God Himself: Joshua Ben-Yosef!” Deafening applause broke out, as well as some frenzied cheering. Joshua appeared—not dramatically from behind a curtain into the glare of a spotlight, but as a white-robed figure who climbed up to the dais from an area just below th
e stage, where he had been ministering to those in need. It was the first time Jon and Shannon had seen Joshua clad in biblical attire rather than the contemporary Israeli apparel he had worn previously.

  “Yes, that’s more like it,” Shannon whispered.

  Jon glanced over to Kevin, but he was still glued to his binoculars. The applause continued loudly and incessantly for some minutes. Finally, Joshua held up both of his arms and the crowd stilled to a reverent hush.

  Almost softly, he began, “A very wise and just king once established an ideal state with a perfect society, in which all citizens could live and thrive in endless bliss. But instead of enjoying their extraordinary happiness, the people grew jealous of their generous ruler who had given them all this. They rebelled against him, each somehow hoping to become like the king himself. Their rebellion, of course, failed. Saddened, the king gave up on his plan for a perfect society and simply let the people be what they had already become: a jealous, unruly, defiant, suspicious, and malicious brood, who plotted against one another or maimed and killed each other in their madness, for they were unable to vent their rage against the wise king himself. Whoever has ears to hear, let him or her hear!”

  Joshua stopped speaking. Silence blanketed the theater for some moments. Then he asked the many thousands assembled on the hillside, “Who is that wise and just king?”

  Nearly half the crowd shouted back, “GOD!”

  “Yes, indeed!” Joshua responded. “The almighty King of the universe! And who are the rebels in that realm?”

  Mingled shouts of “People,” “Us,” “Humanity” rattled across the hillside.

  “Correct again, my friends! You easily understood my parable. Remember, again, that a parable is a parallel, a story that is easily understood and readily applied to something that happens in fact and not in fiction. Two thousand years ago, Jesus, you will recall, used parables regularly in His teaching. I use them also.”

  “This is incredible!” Kevin whispered to his hosts. “Ben-Yosef has no accent of any kind! The man speaks English better than I do!”

  “Not that difficult, Kevin,” Jon whispered back, “in view of your Boston Irish accent!”

  “Jon, would you please!” Shannon groused. “We said exactly the same thing the first time we heard him, Kevin. And he can do this in a dozen or two other languages also. No ordinary man could ever bring that off. I don’t know about you, gentlemen, but that alone convinces me.”

  Joshua was continuing with another parable, then a third, then a fourth, each beautifully crafted to convey a lesson with brilliant logic and ready application. People were mesmerized, sitting ramrod straight in their seats to be ready to answer the questions Joshua was tossing out. The audience seemed to hang on every word that he uttered in his rich baritone.

  “I’ve never heard anything like this,” Kevin commented, in a tone of half-whispered awe.

  “Nor I,” Jon admitted.

  “Yes! And didn’t they say exactly the same thing about Jesus twenty centuries ago?” Shannon commented. “Remember their phrase: ‘No man ever spoke like this’!”

  Joshua began yet another parable. “Do you remember the story about the great and wise king and his rebellious subjects?” he asked rhetorically. “Well, that same king decided not to destroy his subversive subjects after all, but in his great mercy, to spare them. So he sent them an ambassador with a message of love and reconciliation to heal the fracture between himself and his people. But instead of receiving him, they mistreated him and then killed him. And that ambassador was no less than the king’s own son! And now what do you suppose the king did?”

  “Destroyed his subjects!” someone yelled loudly.

  “No! In the greatest example of mercy and love ever shown, the wise king brought his son back to life and promised to forgive all who would now accept him and believe in his mission. Now, again, who is that king?”

  “GOD!” rang out from the multitude.

  “And who is that son?”

  “Jesus!” “Christ!” “Jesus of Nazareth!” ricocheted across the crowd.

  “Exactly! Well done, my faithful people!”

  Kevin looked over to Jon and whispered, “Note that he’s saying, ‘my faithful people’?”

  “Par for his course,” Jon whispered back. “Very similar to what he said to me in our Nicodemus visit. Get used to it, Kev!”

  “And now, dear friends, for my final parable,” Joshua announced. “Twenty centuries passed since that same wise king restored his prince to life. But once again, his subjects doubted that the king had actually sent his son to reconcile them, or that he had even raised him from the dead. In fact, they went so far as to doubt that there ever was a prince, or even a wise king in the first place. And so, in his infinite mercy, the wise king proved that he did indeed exist by sending his own son into the world a second time—two thousand years after his resurrection.”

  Joshua paused, and life itself seemed to pause for the many thousands in the audience, who were sitting in a kind of vacuum outside the time-space continuum, waiting for his next words.

  Joshua now raised his voice. “And that son has indeed come into the flesh again in order to reconcile the world to himself, and to give everyone on earth another opportunity to believe in him. One last time, he will show the world the way to salvation.”

  Another dramatic silence descended on the multitude. Jon, Shannon, and Kevin looked at each other with wide eyes. Then Joshua asked the now-almost-ritual question: “And who is that wise king?”

  In unison, the people again responded, “God!”

  “And who is that king’s son?”

  No one said anything, until a loud voice at the top of the theater yelled out, “JOSHUA BEN-YOSEF!”

  The vast throng erupted in echo. “JOSHUA BEN-YOSEF!” “JOSHUA IS JESUS!” accompanied by wild cheering, a cacophony of shouts and hymns and prayers, all serving as counterpoint to the drumbeat of “JOSHUA BEN-YOSEF!” “JOSHUA IS JESUS!” repeated over and over again.

  Terrified seagulls deserted the pine trees fringing the theater and fled screaming out over the Sea of Galilee. Denizens in nearby forests fled in fright. The whole multitude grew electrified, ecstatic as the rhythmic chant continued.

  Nor were they the only ones. Since the event was being carried live on international radio and television networks, untold millions across the world—glued, boggle-eyed, to their TVs—were sharing in the emotional firestorm. Simultaneous translators, sitting in booths high atop the natural theater, had tears in their eyes while trying to convey what Joshua and the crowd were saying. Media directors in their headsets, perspiration dripping to their chins, were barking camera cues and angles to their crews.

  “Do a full zoom-in on Joshua!” And the world saw a look of apparent divinity in his face as he raised his hands to God on high. “Pan out to show the crowd!” And millions across the globe saw a forest of waving arms raised either toward Joshua or toward heaven.

  “Cut to that old woman in the healing area!” And viewers saw a figure, radiant with joy, clasping hands pointed toward Joshua.

  “Okay, now zoom out to show that chorus of children to the right of the platform!” And there they were, praising God and His Son, Joshua-Jesus, with cherubic enthusiasm.

  Then there was a zoom-out to achieve a bird’s-eye view of the entire multitude from a camera with a wide-angle lens at the crest of the hill. Another, with a telephoto zoom-in, happened to catch Shannon, Jon, and Kevin staring at one another in utter amazement. And then it happened. A massive voice suddenly broke into the warm afternoon in tones that would make “stentorian” seem like a whisper. It was as if a thousand James Earl Joneses were perfectly enunciating their profound, mellifluous bass at the same time in a reverberating speech chorus that actually shook the entire theater: “THIS IS MY BELOVED SON, IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED! HEAR HIM! FOLLOW HIM!”

  People collapsed into their seats at the sound waves. Several media amplifiers went up in smoke. If ther
e was high emotion before, there was sacred pandemonium now. Some had been standing to cheer, but no longer. Like many in the crowd, Shannon fell to her knees in tears. Jon and Kevin were slumped over, holding their heads with both hands. For one long minute, the multitude seemed to sit suspended between time and eternity.

  It was Joshua who broke the silence. “I thank You, Father,” he said, arms raised toward heaven, eyes closed and a smile of serenity on his lips. “I thank You for having—so graciously—revealed Your Son to the world! This time, may the world correct its ways. May people everywhere begin to doubt their doubts and truly believe that You have sent me to give the world a new opportunity to receive Your grace! We pray this in my name, O blessed Father! Amen!”

  Again, moments of sepulchral silence followed. Then it was the chorus of children who began singing the Common Doxology, immediately joined by fifteen thousand other voices on the hillside, and perhaps two hundred million more across the world:

  Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

  Praise Him all creatures here below.

  Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.

  Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!

  Joshua raised his arms in parting benediction and then dismissed the multitude in sacred silence.

  On the drive back to Jerusalem, Shannon, Jon, and Kevin were as quiet as they had ever been in each other’s company. In fact, no one even said a word until they had reached Tiberias. It was there that Jon finally broke the silence. The comment was no sooner off his lips than he knew it was a case of very bad timing. “You . . . you don’t suppose the ‘voice of God’ was . . . some sort of overampli-fied, prerecorded tape?”

  “Oh, won’t you please shut up, Jon!” Shannon shouted. “You can take those blasphemous doubts of yours down to the devil with you, for all I care! What does it take to convince you? You wouldn’t accept the truth if it stared you in your bleeding face! You’re just a—” She broke into a soft sobbing that cut off further comment.